


American Author

by Toryb



Series: Camp Bughead 2018 [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Camp Bughead, Day 5: Across the Ocean/Abroad, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Summer Buggie Break 2k18, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 22:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15180467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: Betty never got the chance to say all the things she wanted to before Jughead left for his writing retreat. Now, five years later, he's back and she might just get the chance to. If she even still wants it.





	American Author

**Author's Note:**

> You'll probably be able to tell, but this entire work was hardcore inspired by the entirety of the American Authors album I listen to on repeat when I make my 45 minute drive to work every day. Jughead is an American Author so i think it fit. Enjoy a little angst with your meal (whichever one you're having).

“Come on Betty, don’t cry. Please. I’ll be back before the leaves touch the ground.” His touch had been do delicate against her cheek, his index finger swiping away the tears as his lips left a feather light kiss on her forehead.

 

Betty watched him him ride off, that old dodge pickup fading into the horizon until it passed the worn, paint chipped maple sign and she couldn't follow it on foot anymore--not even as her sneaker pounded the pavement and her lungs burned with every intake of air. Her entire body felt numb as the words she’d practiced over and over in the mirror died on her tongue, just like the hopes and dreams she had lassoed so tightly around him.

 

_ I love you.  _

 

_ Take me with you.  _

 

_ Please, Juggie. _

 

_ You weren’t supposed to leave without me. _

 

When the snow stuck for the second time since he had left, Betty finally started to believe everyone when they said Jughead wasn’t coming back. His phone calls got less frequent. So did his texts. Until one day, in late June of year three, the machine that picked up the phone claimed that no one was around to hear her voice mails anymore. The number was dead. The boy--who was probably a man now--who the number had previously belonged to, was long gone, clipping away the last of the dead roots he had once planted in Riverdale’s poisonous soil. And in her fertile soul.

 

Moving on was impossible. So instead, she lived in her misery as well as she could. The little tea and flower shop she opened up had her parents realing, foaming at the mouth with displeasure that their supposed perfect journalist daughter had become an entrepreneur with none other than Veronica Lodge. Sunflower Station, located on Posie Road--a real estate opportunity her business partner had refused to miss--wasn’t always busy, but it brought in enough business they were always in the black, especially on holidays. They had a handful of regulars that kept things going even on slowdays. Her little studio apartment above the shop didn’t cost much. For most people, her life would have been happiness, but for her it was stale contentment.

 

Many men--and sometimes boys--wrote their phone numbers on the back of napkins when she came to pick up their drinks and even more were sent her way by a loving but meddling Veronica. None of them interested her. She didn't want any of them to interest her. The one man she had ever loved was gone, faded away into a single stark picture and a few blisters on her feet from trying to chase him down as he had ridden away like some James Dean cowboy at the end of movie.

 

Jughead had left for a three month long writers retreat and never come back. Sometimes she saw his books up on shelves--always buying but never reading them. There wasn’t enough room in her heart beside all the pain and scorned love for whatever feelings each turn of a page would bring. But she wanted to support him, even if he never knew she was doing it. All three of them were lined up on a shelf at the shop. Veronica was nice enough to not ask questions.

 

The man on the back of the plastic slip cover was different from the boy who had left. There was an edge about him, leaning against a motorcycle with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, with a smile dancing across his lips she had never seen before. Such a contrast from the lanky awkward boy who was better at stuffing burgers into his mouth than studying for math tests. Maybe if she met him now, she would hate him, hate this perverted version of the idealized Juggie she kept pristine in her mind. Would he still taste like muted bourbon and old mint like she time she’d kissed him at Archie’s place during their ginger friend’s 16th birthday, the only time she’d ever seen him drink and the only time she’d been inhibited enough to kiss him like she’d always wanted.

 

(They never talked about it after that night. It, like many things between them, died before it even had a chance to live.)

 

Five years. Betty hated that she counted, but it was impossible not to when each day that tiny thorn of hope pricked her heart. The first winter that passed without him, she promised herself she would only wait for him five years. She’d be twenty-three years old by then with her own life and plans and future. Five years was all she could spare for him. But here it was and nothing. No Prince Charming. No Happily Ever After. Just another day at Sunflower Station, arranging daffodils and writing up coffee orders for her teenage baristas to inevitably mess up on.

 

The little bell chimed and she plastered on the best Cooper smile she had on deck. “Welcome to Sunflower Station. Are you looking for a little something to brighten up your day?” The greeting sounded as hollow as ever to her.

 

“You could say that,” the man answered. His sunglasses were hiding his eyes, black hair curls swept sinfully across his forehead. For the first time in a very long time, Betty was tempted to make a little small talk.

 

“What can I help you find?”

 

He smiled at her gently. “Actually. I think you already did.” When he took off his glasses, those pretty blues were looking up at her. Even on a supposed stranger’s handsome face she could recognize them. “Told you I’d be back before the leaves fell. Just...took a few more years than I thought.”

 

“Juggie?” her throat croaked, betraying all the anger that threatened to well up. She was supposed to be furious. Supposed to be so mad she would throw glass vases and her pruning shears at him. Instead, all she did was hop the counter and run straight into his arms. It was a warm embrace, thawing all the parts of her heart she had frozen. “You still smell the same.”

 

“So do you. God Betty, I missed you.”

 

Later she would unpack that sentence. For now there was a tearful reunion occuring in her little shop, and she couldn’t even suggest to the participants a fitting bouquet. Stunned, Betty pulled back and cupped his face. There was a gentle stubbled rubbing against her hands, though not a lot--it was comforting to know even as an adult he couldn’t grow facial hair. Under his eyes, the dark bags were heavier, but they didn’t way him down as much as they had in high school. Even with them he seemed lighter. Happier. Better. That thought hurt too. Without her, he had flourished. Without him, she had shied away from the sun and stunted her own growth.

 

Veronica happily agreed to man the front while the two friends caught up outside. He ordered what she recommended as the best from the coffee menu and Betty poured herself a cup of Hibiscus tea.

 

“How have you been?” it was a loaded and tentative question she wasn’t sure how to answer,

 

“Fine. But I should be asking about you. Not to be crude but where the hell have you been?”

 

Jughead winced and took a long drink. She steeled herself for whatever excuses he would throw her way, but she was also curious as to what had pulled him away and changed him so much.

 

“It started out as that writer’s retreat you know? Just three months and then it became so much more. I got invited to travel out to California and I couldn't’ say no, not when it was this huge thing with a bunch of writers and publishing houses. I go out there and this guy wants to read what I have. He was so drunk but it was one of the few times someone seemed interested. I got a signing and an advancement. For the first time I felt free of all the burdens a place like Riverdale gives you so I just...left. I went somewhere to write and before I knew it six months had passed and people actually liked my book, were buying and reading my book. It felt so surreal.

 

“With the money I got I picked up and backpacked across Europe with a few friend’s I’d met. I stayed in Paris for awhile until my bank account was nearly empty from wine and bread,” he laughed but couldn’t meet her eyes. “I lost my phone while I was there and just never bothered to get another one until I got back and by then...well I figured everyone in Riverdale had forgotten about me.”

 

“I didn’t,” she whispered. “I never could, Jug. I never would. But you forgot about me so easily, while you were out living your dream as the next great american author. I’m not sure what you think will happen by you walking back in here. I don’t even know why you’re here. Do you?”

 

He looked taken aback at first, before finally sighing, running a hand through his curls in that nervous way he had even as a kid. The memory made her heart hurt as tears well at the edges of her eyes. “I’m not sure honestly. I think part of me always remembered that promise I made and it...felt really bad to never do right by you. You’re the only thing I missed about here.”

 

“It takes a lot more than a coffee to fix what you did to me.” Betty stood, tearing off a small yellow slip from her notepad. “Your total comes out to be $3.50, sir. You can pay up front with Veronica.”

 

He didn’t fight or argue with her. Part of her wished he did, wished he’d screamed and chased as fast and as hard as she had the day he’d spun around and left her. Instead he just watched her and left a tip that was twice what he’d paid for the latte, leaving his phone number on the table under his signature.

 

“You’re going to call him right?” Veronica prodded as they sat around the restaurant, currently closed after the late night rush of husbands trying to woo their wives on a budget and stoned high school kids looking for a snack. “You have no self control with this boy. You once called him 3 times in a single day just to make sure that it was still just a dial tone you got.”

 

“I’m scared, okay! What if I let him in and it’s the same thing that happened last time. Besides, he doesn’t know there was anything ever in my head that wasn’t just platonic best friendness.”

 

Suddenly, she watched her best friend throwback her glass of champagne rather quickly--the most obvious one of Veronica’s nervous tells.

 

Betty’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know, V?”

 

“Know? I mean I know a lot Betty, I’m practically Nostradamus except way smarter and probably even luckier.”

 

“You know what I mean! About me and Jughead. What do you know that you aren’t telling me? I can’t. I can’t do anymore lies or half truths from people I care about. Tell me right now!”

 

Veronica groaned. “Fine. Fine okay. So when we first moved in together, back when we were still painting the walls yellow and figuring out how we were going to pay off Kevin to paint that mural on the back wall when we were just a start-up, you got really drunk. Like...really drunk. Probably my fault, and Kevin’s I won’t exclusively take the blame, but we were trying to cheer you up. This was when Jughead’s calls were spotty at best and nonexistent at worst but before the cell phone disconnection.”

 

“I know the timeline of my own misery, V. Just get out with it!”

 

“Fine. Fine okay so you called him. You called Jughead absolutely trashed and neither of us stopped you as you confessed your love to him. Then you kind of passed out so we hung up the phone for you. He called the next day while you were still sleeping so I answered and I...told him to just forget about it. Which was stupid of me, I get that in retrospect, but I was just trying to save my girl’s ego! I didn’t realize I was probably taking away your last chance of getting this guy’s attention. So that’s why I’m practically begging you, on my hands and knees, not literally the ground still needs to be mopped soon and these jeans are Guess, to just give this a chance. Because maybe it wasn’t his fault entirely that you didn’t get that dream come true you always wanted.”

 

Betty sat stunned, unsure what to say or even what to do. It felt bitter on her tongue. All these lies for years, covering up what could have been something more, all because of a little too much wine. Alcohol and Jughead mixed together were her kryptonite it seemed. Finally, her heart calmed down and the red receded from her vision.

 

“I’m not...mad,” she said carefully. “But I wish you had told me sooner. I deserved to know what had happened.”

 

“I 100% agree, completely and utterly my fault. Which is why I recommend forcing my hand in helping you get your man the good and honest way--no liquor required.” 

 

“What exactly is the good and honest way? Besides, who says I want him anymore? Who says I can even have him anymore. We’ve both changed, I’m sure of it. Maybe neither of us will like the people we’ve changed into.”

 

Veronica stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Betty. “Of course maybe. There’s always a maybe or an if or a but or a what to keep you from doing something, but sometimes you have to let your signature ponytail down and just live it out. Worst case scenario is he laughs in your face and then you never have to see him again. For reasons I will not describe so you can have plausible deniability when Kevin and I are arrested.”

 

“Why Kevin and you?”

 

“Please B, you think he wouldn’t immediately want in on an impromptu crime of passion murder? He’s far too dramatic to deny himself of that.”

 

After some argument, Betty promised Veronica she’d let her interfere if things took a sour turn. For now, this was an uphill battle she was going to climb on her own, impassioned by the news of her previous confession and only slightly inhibited by apprehension. It took two days for her to call him. He deserved to sit and wait like she had for years, watching and waiting for that shrill little ring, jumping at any unknown number only to be disappointed when someone asked who  you were voting for and if she’d thought about donating to homeless dogs.

 

When he picked up on the second ring, she felt delighted that his suffering mimicked hers. A crueler woman would have hung up the phone and waited to call again. But Betty wasn’t evil. Besides, she had no idea how long he was going to be in town for. Wasting time for pettiness could only take her so far. 

 

They arranged for a date--she refused to let herself think it was that kind of date--at Sweetwater, a place that had been theirs in childhood. It was the place Jughead had told her he was leaving for a while. It was the place she went and sat by the riverbanks to watch the fish swim and cool her aching heart. And now it would be place of resolution. Whatever may come, it would be an ending to a story far far too many years left in limbo.

 

He met her at the river dressed in jeans and flannel.  This was a far cry from the collared shirt and leather jacket he’d come into her shop sporting. For a moment, Betty feared her mind had called forth another cruel flashback, until he greeted her with a nervous wave and stomped out a lit cigarette. He’d never smoked when she knew him before--an ever growing list of things that separated the then and the now.

 

Silence sat heavy on her chest, nearly suffocating. Finally he spoke to cut through the air. “You look good.”

 

Of course she did. This was a dress her and Veronica had agonized over: a small little sunshine yellow sundress that matched her gold scandals and showed off a little more cleavage than she would normally be comfortable wearing.

 

“Flattery will get you everywhere and nowhere.”

 

He laughed, shaking his head. “Didn’t Mary Andrews used to say that all the time, after we’d stick our fingers in her pies without permission and ruin them?”

 

“As far as I remember it was just you and Archie doing that, wiping the cherry on my dress so you guys weren’t the only ones grounded for the night.”

 

“I was a lot more of an asshole back then than I remember.”

 

“Maybe you still are.”

 

The silence was back now, but all that painful weight had been tossed off her chest and onto his. He winced and looked away from her. The river babbled in front of them, the only noise around for miles to keep the dead air away.

 

“Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

 

Betty shrugged and took a step forward, kicking off her scandals and letting the water run over her freshly pedicured toes. “Maybe. Maybe not. It’s worth a try though, don’t you think?”

 

“I’m really sorry.” At least he sounded genuine enough to pull at her heartstrings. She wasn’t so sure she could forgive him so easily, but it was a step in the right direction.

 

“You know, I was so selfish I never asked. How was traveling?”

 

It felt like playing with fire, and she had purposefully set it up that way, forcing him to navigate though the flames. Cruel? Yes, but they were locked in a dance that could only end one of a few ways now. Wherever the chips may fall, at least Betty knew she was playing her part well.

 

“Good,” his lackluster response made the wind taste bitter again. “Amazing maybe. It all started the blur together in something like a symphony. Or maybe it was a cacophony. Sometimes it got hard to handle, but as long as I was away from Riverdale, I felt good. I don’t belong here. Not then maybe and definitely not now. It’s like if a pacific halibut ended up swimming up Sweetwater River and everyone crowded around it and screamed until it turned into a cod.”

 

“As long as you were away from Riverdale it felt good,” she repeated. The cool water kissed at her ankles as she closed her eyes, fighting to keep the tears inside. “As long as you were away from Riverdale. As long as you were away from me.”

 

“Betty no. No I never meant it like that.”

 

“It sounded like that.”

 

“It was never supposed to.”

 

“A lot of the time, there’s a big difference between supposed to and is.”

 

An angry bird shouted overhead, and Betty let her mind wander. The fish he’d caught had floundered out of his grasp, slipping from his talons into the green treeline, a place he could never hope to find it. She felt pity for the bird. There were lots of things that slipped through her fingers as well.

 

Opening her eyes, she saw Jughead’s on her back, watching as the breeze picked up the bottom of the cotton, threatening to expose every inch of the tiny white shorts she was wearing underneath. He took a step forward. One. Two. Three. Until he was beside her, shoes discarded somewhere far away, jeans rolled up to his ankles so he could feel Sweetwater on him again.

 

It was like the past had kissed her again. Every inch of her transported back to a time where her life had not been so morose, where happiness and hope lingered on the end of every sentence and the future she had mapped out in her head seemed so obtainable, especially watching Jughead’s eyes bulge at the sight of her swimsuit.

 

That little two piece swimsuit--bought with her own saved up allowance and barely exposing the skin of her stomach, pink polka dotted at her mother’s behest--had given both those boys a fright. Archie choked on a gulp of river water and Jughead momentarily forgot to breath. All she cared about what those pretty blue eyes on her as he croaked out,  _ “I like that suit Betty.” _

 

When his hand found hers, tangling their fingers together and ripping her from the happier memories clutched tight in her grasp to make up for all the bad, she nearly yanked back in surprise. But she knew those callouses. They were a roadmap of all the messy things. The ones on his palms were from working construction with the Andrews. The ones on the pads of his fingers were from typing. If she rubbed her finger just up and to the left she traced along the cut from a fishing accident their sophomore year of High School.

 

“You’re crying,” Jughead whispered, reaching out and brushing the tears from her face. “God I’m so sorry.”

 

“How many times can you say you’re sorry? Are there enough to make what happened better? Do you know how heartbroken I was? You promised. You promised me and it took you five fucking years to fulfill that promise. And in the meantime what happened? You ran. You explored. You did everything I never got to do because I was stuck in this shitty town waiting for you! Because what if...what if you came back and I wasn’t here?” her voice pitched up in a panic. “What if you thought I abandoned you? And I would never. I could never. And then you did it to me.”

 

“I never meant--” he stopped. “But I did anyway. And there aren’t enough I’m sorries to make it better. I get that now. Can I just say something?”

 

Betty laughed despite herself, looking over at him with a smile. How many times had she fantasized about this: holding hands with Jughead at Sweetwater lake? It felt so surreal now. “You say a lot of things. I’m not sure anyone can stop you.”

 

He laughed too. “Yeah. I guess that’s true. But this time what I want to say isn’t about some protest on the school’s mystery meat or an expose on the shady practices at the bowling alley when it comes to the shoe cleaning. And it isn’t even all the things I’ve written. This is more important than all of those put together.” He reached forward and cupped her face, pulling her until she was stumbling into his arms. “I love you Betty Cooper. And I wasn’t just running away from Riverdale. I was running away from that. From you. And when Veronica told me to just forget about the time you called me and said it, I thought it meant forget about it all. There was no chance, no way, no how it was ever going to happen. So I ran all around the world. And it took me five years to figure out that maybe I could go anywhere in the world, but it doesn’t mean anything unless you’re there with me.

 

“I want to take you to Paris. I want to drink wine and eat overpriced cheese while we rent out a small studio apartment. I’ll write and you’ll nag me about never getting enough sleep. And then when we get bored we run off to Rome and take a look at all history Mr. King tried to teach us. Maybe after that we end up in Tokyo and flounder our way through there until somehow we end up in California with our feet in sand instead of hard wet stones. Our biggest worry can be what strange diner we’re eating at tonight. Then we’ll end up back home and I’ll lock myself away until the books finished so we can do it all over again. That’s the kind of life I want with you Betty. It’s the kind of life I’ve always wanted with you.”

 

She was crying then, tears staining her dress and the graphic t-shirt underneath his flannel. It was everything she had ever wanted to hear and still it felt stale. Maybe at eighteen she could have--should have--hoped in the back of his truck and said goodbye to everything. But she had been scared then and now there were other things weighing her down.

 

“I can’t just leave, Juggie. I have things here. I have a business that I own that I love. It’s mine and it means everything to me. Polly’s pregnant with her third baby and I don’t want to miss out on that either. I’m not at a place where I can just pack up and go anywhere in the world with you. Maybe, maybe two years ago, but now? I can’t leave.”

 

“I’m not asking you to leave forever,” he clung to her desperately, like a newborn child when their mother tried to tuck them in for bed. His eyes shone brightly with fear. “Or now. Or even ever. What I’m saying is I want us to be us, without the walls and the barriers and the worries. I want to be Juggie and Betts and I want to kiss you whenever I can.”

 

Betty grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him down for a searing kiss. Every fear, worry, doubt left her mind in an instant as his firm lips pressed down against hers. It felt like the penultimate kiss. Before the end. Or before the new beginning. Which, Betty wasn’t sure.

 

“No matter where I go or how long I’m gone, I will always find my way back to you,” he promised sweetly, running a hand through her hair. “Because I’ve been everywhere and seen everything and none of it, not even every single star plucked straight from a Venetian night sky, could ever compare to you.”

 

Five Years Later….

 

Betty watched as the hands on her analogue bedside clock ticked by. On the right it showed the digital time, but there was nothing quite as satisfyingly melancholy as watching the time literally click with each twist of the hands. It was late. Nearly 4:30 in the morning. Her little cat Caramel sat curled up by her head, little purrs helping to ease some of the worries that had been building up throughout the day.

 

Luckily, it had been a busy day at Sunflower Station. Customers flooded them from open to close these days. It was worse on weekends. Ever since they’d been mentioned by some up and coming New York Times Bestselling author in an interview about the inspiration for his latest novel, people came from all over to take a bite of one of Betty’s famous key lime tarts. Most of them entered with preconceived notions, asking questions Betty would just smile at. “Where’s the wife? Where is she?” 

 

They didn’t leave with answers, but rather smiles, promising to return again the next time they--or anyone they knew--was in Riverdale.

 

Oh sleepy little Riverdale, once a slumbering river town and now a bustling hub of tourism.  _ Backwoods Neons _ , a fiction novel about coming of age in small town America, had brought a lot of life back into their walls. Everyday she would overhear Pop Tate talking all about how he’d converted another person over to his whiskey burger and fries. It wasn’t just maple syrup that ruled the revenue anymore. Truly, things had never been better.

 

Betty jolted awake at the sound of keys banging against her front door. She looked at the clock and cursed. 5:30 AM. There had been a plan, such a well detailed one, where she would stay up the entire night waiting for him and they would kiss until her knees went weak. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from ripping off her little lingerie as they tumbled back into the bed. Instead, she was still wearing the old flannel she’d filched from his bag when he’d packed for the trip, her hair half out of it’s messy ponytail and dried drool on the corner of her pink lips.

 

“Miss me?” Jughead asked when he opened the door, finding his wife half awake and half panicked, frozen in bed as the wheels in her head turned slowly.

 

Her eyes went wide and she beamed, throwing her arms around his neck. The sheets on the bed were already messy after her impromptu nap so standing on them to hug him properly was well worth the increased disaster. Even still, after three years of marriage, her heart threatened to stop whenever he left town, no matter how many promises he made.

 

“More than,” she whispered and pulled him up for another proper kiss.

 

Jughead kicked his shoes away before picking her up. She fit so easily into his arms as he peppered her face in pent up kisses. This time the tour had only been a month long--nowhere near as bad as the other’s, which had practically taken an icepick to her heart and split it straight in two.

 

“I’m home now.”

 

Still his sweet little words made her shiver. “You are. And we’re so happy you are.”

 

She took his hands and placed them on the little bump between them--just two months along. It hardly looked like there was a baby inside of her. Most people just assumed she’d stuffed a few too many early morning doughnuts in her mouth during a fit of nervousness about her husband’s early morning plane ride.

 

“I am too. I missed you and the little bug. I have presents, but we can open those in the morning. All except this one.” From the front pocket of his laptop bag, he produced an envelope and pushed it towards her. “Open it. Please? Then I promise we’ll go to bed. As long as Caramel moves.”

 

Betty tilted her head curiously but obeyed his strange request. Inside was her passport, as well as a few folded up pieces of paper. The first was a note from Veronica, approving a month of time she hadn’t remembered asking off. Behind that was a folded up itinerary for a flight to Paris at the start of her second trimester.

 

“I know we probably won’t be drinking wine, but I figured some fancy cheese and a vacation could do us all some good.” He looked down at her apprehensive, waiting with baited breath for her response. “I made sure with a few doctors that you were safe to fly during that time. They said it was perfect.”

 

Later, when asked under pressure if she cried when he’s presented the gift to her, Betty would blame her pregnancy hormones. Tonight, she cried until she nearly collapsed in his arms.

 

“I love you so much, Juggie.”

 

“I hate leaving with you. Remember what I said? Nowhere is as good as it could be without you by my side.”

 

Just outside the window, the first leaf of autumn tumbled to the ground, a single splatter of orange against a brilliant green background.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to follow @buggiebreak on tumblr so you can see everyone's contributions!


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